I go to the mountain sideof the house to cut saplings,and clear a view to snowon the mountain. But when I look up,saw in hand, I see a nest clutched inthe uppermost branches.I don’t cut that one.I don’t cut the others either.Suddenly, in every tree, an unseen nestwhere a mountain would be.

My child, if as a baby you were sometimes comforted by my loving care, and if your heart preserves the memory of those moments, I hope you will place your trust in this advice, which is prompted by my love for you, and that it will help you to be happy.